stayed off and we immediately began removing each other’s clothes when we entered his room. He was qualified at clothing removal but not as much with finger placement. I had to fish his pokey fingers out of my undies twice before he got the hint to give that up.
Me in my underwear, him in his blue boxers, we moved over to the bed. “Wait—” I told him, the first word spoken that afternoon. I found Becca’s condom in my backpack and brought it up to the bed. He yanked off his underwear in an overly excited manner, then got on his knees to help me work off mine. I looked at his penis, studying it to get the details for Becca before he slapped on the condom. I lay down on the bed, and he lay on top of me. The initial pain wasn’t excruciating, although I never got much pleasure out of it. It was over quickly, and Aleks rolled off me and promptly fell asleep. Hestekuk.
I got dressed and immediately called Becca from my cell on the way out of the house. “His penis was wearing a saggy hat,” I reported.
“Really? That’s so depressing. Did it at least feel good?”
“It felt fine.” I shrugged to the phone.
“Well, that’s not how sex should feel. Go back in there and do it again!”
“Um, no thank you. Not today at least.”
“They go back to Norway next week, you know.”
“Well, then we better hurry and have as much bad sex as we can before he leaves.”
“Was it really bad?” She pouted over the phone.
“No. Don’t worry. It just wasn’t really good. I’ll try again, maybe. Just for you.”
“You’re the best.”
“Tell that to my vagina.”
“You’re the best, Alex’s vagina.”
“My vagina thanks you.”
Aleks and I had sex once more before he flew back to Norway. It was better the second time around, with some added foreplay and a near climax. But near isn’t the same as the real deal, which was why I wasn’t in a hurry to try again when I started dating Davis.
Would the Fuck-It List magically help me fall in love and have sex in a way that I couldn’t before Becca got cancer? Was it fair for either of us to live or die with that kind of pressure?
No email from Becca waited on my computer. Her mom sent another report:
The news (not in order of importance):
We will be home Saturday.
Becca will have seven days of chemo in a row, then a two and a half week break, then three to five more treatments followed by a short radiation treatment to zap any remaining tumor cells.
Morphine seems to be working for pain management, and Becca is able to sleep a little, thank God.
After God, she thanked everyone else for being so supportive, but I skimmed that part. It sounded like Becca was in hell, and would be in hell, for a very long time.
I typed Becca an email:
You will be happy to learn that masturbating wasn’t the only thing I did on your list. I ate a hot pepper for you. You’re welcome. You can thank my burning butt tomorrow morning.
Leo stopped by Cellar. We kissed again. I have no idea what’s going on, but he’s a really good kisser. Far better than that Norwegian.
Sweet, circumcised dreams, my friend.
CHAPTER 13
JENNA BROWN CAUGHT MY EYE during the morning hallway rush and gave me a sympathetic actorly smile. I threw up a middle finger and scratched my cheek with it, but she was already off and running with her audience. At lunch I decided to join the living and ate with some of my old stage-crew friends. Damien West had shoulder- length black hair and was a practicing Wiccan. He had been hospitalized for depression three times since I’d known him. I think he was just too smart for his parents, and they had no idea what to do with him. His girlfriend, Eliza Klise, was wafer thin and white-out pale with light blond hair she dyed in various colors as it washed out. Currently it was a pukey shade of green. Not her best. Lastly was Brandon Hathaway, tall and thin, with olive skin and rich brown eyes. I was madly in love with him freshman year, even kissed him once, until he came out. I was pissed at him for a while, going far enough to kiss me, but he said he did it because he felt bad for me. Apparently I really looked like I wanted him to kiss me. I wish someone would take a picture of that face so I’d stop making it. Once I got over the humiliation, he was still fun to be around. And he was an excellent judge of character. He advised me heavily against dating Davis, but I didn’t listen. Obviously.
“How’s our little devil child?” Brandon patted my head as I sat down at the table with a Coke and vending machine packs of cheese and peanut butter crackers. He liked to pretend I was satanic because of my love for horror movies.
“Okay, I guess. You guys heard about Becca?”
“Yeah. How is she?” Damien asked, concerned.
“I don’t know yet. I mean, she officially has cancer and is going through chemo and all that. That’s pretty much it.” I bit into my cheese crackers, while Eliza stared at me. “What?” Bright orange crumbles sprayed from my mouth.
“It’s just, how can you eat? At a time like this?”
“Some of us need food to survive,” I reminded her.
“Sha, but I don’t know, I’d be crying all the time if Damien had cancer. I don’t know how I’d make it through the day.”
“Alex doesn’t cry,” Brandon explained. “She’s on the spectrum.” I sneered at Brandon, and he added, “Maybe just a little bit?”
“I don’t know. But why do I have to cry all the time? To prove to you that I’m upset? Fuck that noise. Becca likes to be the dramatic one anyway.”
“That’s why you guys make such good friends. She’s the actress, and you’re on the spectrum.” Brandon stuck to his brilliant theory.
“I’ll shove a spectrum up your ass if you don’t stop talking about it.”
“Duly noted.”
“Is there anything we can do for her?” Damien offered.
“Not that I know of yet. I can ask her.”
Changing the subject all too easily, Eliza cattily asked, “Did you hear that Lottie McDaniels is back?”
“The bitch is back,” Brandon sang.
Lottie McDaniels was Becca’s major competition when she first started in freshman drama, but last year she opted for a boarding school with a stellar acting program. Good riddance. Having her back the same year Becca would be MIA from productions would ensure her superstar status and enlarge her already infamously ginormous head.
“Oh—” I started, remembering something from Becca’s list. I unfolded the soft paper from my pocket. “Aha!” I exclaimed.
“What is it, Dr. Watson?” Brandon asked.
“Becca asked me to do some things for her—”
“I thought you said there wasn’t anything we could do for her,” Eliza whined.
“Simmer down, Doolittle. This is stuff I can do for her. Only me. When your best friend gets cancer, then it’s your turn.” Dramatic sigh from Eliza. I always thought she would have been better on stage than behind it.
Number 14: Tell off Lottie McDaniels.
That should be interesting. I never really spoke to Lottie; she just yelled commands at me during my minuscule stint in stagecraft. Becca told me tales of sabotage, like when Lottie threw out Becca’s base makeup because she claimed it smelled weird. I never liked the look of Lottie. There was something messed up about a high school student who wore stiletto heels. How would she run if there was a zombie attack?
